


Mounting the Tower

by NotBreadPudding (Paranoia)



Series: A Series of Concerning Events [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Honestly my tags are better than the fic at this point, I don't know what im doing with my life anymore, Its food porn yall, M/M, No beta we fall like Crowley, OLHTS made me do it, When in france, food fucking, fuck the croquembouche, pining for profiteroles, thank you have a good night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:28:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22451149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paranoia/pseuds/NotBreadPudding
Summary: Aziraphale likes croquembouche.... no,Aziraphale really likes croquembouche.Mind the tags.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: A Series of Concerning Events [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623268
Comments: 5
Kudos: 46





	Mounting the Tower

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Crackfic mondays for my OLHTS server. I don't know that I achieved crack, but I wrote food porn as requested so here you go. I just don't know.

Croquembouche. Aziraphale had loved it since first seeing all of those delicate profiteroles artfully stacked together in the 1500s. Admittedly, Aziraphale hadn’t missed Crowley’s reaction to the sounds such pastry perfection had drawn from him, and he’d long harbored an intense fantasy of having Crowley feed him a croquembouche whilst fucking him mercilessly. He blamed the romanticism of court life at the time, of course. You’d think nearly five hundred years would have been more than enough time to cure that particular disease, but you’d have thought wrong. Whatever had possessed Crowley to bring an entire croquembouche- dripping with caramelized sugar and heavy with strawberries- Aziraphale could only guess, but he felt himself flush as well-worn fantasies came surging to the forefront of his mind. A blush rose high on his cheeks, trousers tightening. Crowley, sharp as ever, smiled at him, his eyes glinting with mischief. Aziraphale had been caught out. 

Crowley pressed his advantage, setting down the decadent dessert on the table and advancing. Aziraphale, entirely too caught up in fighting down centuries-old desires gasped in surprise as his back met a bookshelf. He was properly cornered now. 

“M-my dear?” Aziraphale stammered, “What’s this all about?” 

This was far, far too close to the terrible secret he’d kept revisiting in the dark hours of the night. 

Crowley pressed in closer, pushing a profiterole to his lips; one he hadn’t even realized had been pried from the towering pastry. Thoughtlessly, Aziraphale opened his mouth to it, moaning as the sweet flavor burst over his tongue. Crowley ground those sinful hips against his, drawing another moan from Aziraphale that was, embarrassingly, no different from the first. 

Very few words were exchanged between the two as Crowley fed him yet another profiterole and then manhandled him out of his clothes and bent over the table, so that he could stare up at the tower of sweets. Crowley fingered him open tortuously slow, all the while feeding him piece by piece of what had to be the best Croquembouche he’d ever had. As Crowley lined up to push in he plucked off a strawberry to push against Aziraphale’s wanting lips and the fresh burst of flavor coupled with Crowley filling him up drug a moan that was pure sin from him. 

Crowley alternated the blissful profiteroles with strawberries as he fucked him ruthlessly against the table until the sugar and juice dripped down his face in sticky rivulets. Aziraphale was imagining the moment after, when Crowley would lap up the mixture from his skin and lips and make some witty retort about the flavor when Crowley’s rhythm stuttered and he came with a shout inside him, one last strawberry rushing sweet over his tongue. Aziraphale came too, like the bright note of salt surging forth over notes of dark chocolate with caramel, his whole being bursting with contrasting flavors. 

Later, when they’d regained the ability to move their legs Crowley had spun him around, setting him atop the table and cleaned every sticky inch of him and with that devilish grin of his remarked, “I think I understand the appeal of the croquembouche, Angel.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I am absolutely using my pseud to post this. Not because I have any sort of shame, but because I have Grand Ideas (and food fucking doesn't, generally, fall under them.)


End file.
